


this scarlet lust has got its claws in me

by Kendarrr



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Futanari, G!P, Newhalf, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, and feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendarrr/pseuds/Kendarrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>and yours is a noble heart i don’t deserve to hold.</i> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j5ao04I4o0k&ab_channel=Audiotreetv">♫</a></p><p>As a queen, g!p Rachel has always been expected to marry for political reasons and economic gain. But with Quinn as her bedwarmer, her handmaiden, the only love she has ever known, for her, a drab, utilitarian marriage is not an option.</p><p>And so, Rachel must make a choice. Love or political advancement; Quinn or queendom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The silk sheets glide like water against her Highness’ skin when she stirs awake, sunlight streaming through the cracks of the heavy curtains. She stares at the ceiling of her canopy bed with its scarlet velvet draperies and gilt tassels. The heat of the multiple layers of blankets and silk sheets are cozy that the warmth alone is enough to make her eyelids droop once again.

 

Rachel, queen of Lima, stretches her arms over her head and yawns. Curled beside her is a lump in the bed, but she knows better. A head of blonde hair peeks out from the paisley-patterned cover sheet. Rachel stoops over and gives the top of her head a kiss which stirs her awake.

 

“I did not mean to wake you,” Rachel murmurs when eyelids flutter open to reveal hazel eyes still fogged with sleep.

 

Quinn, her favoured handmaid, smiles and sits up. The covers fall off her body, white as milk and just as silken, to expose her breasts with perfect pink nipples that Rachel longs to have in her mouth. Between the queen’s legs, her heavy cock is erect from sleep and erotic dreams, and it tents the blankets. Quinn allows her eyes to rake down her Majesty’s form to land at the peak amidst a flat plateau of bed sheets. “Does her Majesty require my services?” Quinn asks, her voice soft against Rachel’s jawline as she trails a path down to her neck.

 

“I do,” Rachel says with a groan. The clock reads a few minutes past seven, which barely gives them enough time before her steward comes barging in with a list of tasks and appointments she must fulfill throughout the day. “I need to ensure a fantastic start to my day, as you know.”

 

The blonde girl flashes a wide smile and peels the blankets off Rachel’s body until her lean, tanned frame is fully exposed. Quinn presses her body against Rachel’s side, her breasts flush against her hip, leg thrown over her Majesty’s long legs. The cool air in the room forms goose flesh across her skin but her erection is stiff and teetering, the tip already leaking with precum. Quinn hums at the sight of her Grace’s cock, placing a gentle kiss to the top. Curls a hand around the thick base, fingers barely meeting around its thick girth.

 

“Don’t tease me,” Rachel urges. Props herself up on pillows and by her elbows to watch every movement Quinn makes. The blonde parts her mouth, tongue covering the bottom row of her teeth. Rachel shivers in anticipation.

 

Quinn takes the head of Rachel’s cock into her mouth, her tongue resting against the underside of her thickness. Her lips form a tight ring. She sucks once, a wet sound that has Rachel’s muscled thighs tensing.

 

Biting her lip, Rachel curls her arm around Quinn’s shoulders and watches over the top of the golden head of hair. She strokes the back of her neck and guides her to take her pulsing meat deeper into her hot, skillful mouth. “You’re so good,” Rachel murmurs, and it encourages Quinn to take her further, the sensitive tip of her cock bumping against the back of her throat. Quinn makes a gagging sound that has Rachel curling her toes with the filthiness of it.

 

Rachel’s brows furrow, her cock steadily pulsing now. She grasps at Quinn’s hair while she eagerly licks up the queen’s precum with an eager, delighted hum.

 

So immersed is Rachel to the expert manipulations of Quinn’s hot mouth that she does not register the smart rapping of knuckles against the doorframe to her inner chamber. Eyes wide open, Rachel sits up and piles on a wall of pillows to the foot of her bed so only her head is visible when she cries out for her steward to come in.

 

Santana, upon entering, rolls her eyes. “Good morning, your Highness. Good morning to you too, Quinn.”

 

Quinn continues the slow up and down movement of her head and gives Santana a wave. Rachel, stroking the nape of Quinn’s neck, laughs at the display. “Good morning, Santana. If you knew what you were up to, you could’ve waited until we finished.”

 

“If I waited, you wouldn’t stop at just one orgasm, your Majesty,” the steward drawls. “You would’ve carried on to have a marathon. Besides, as much as I would enjoy ignoring you lovesick birds all day, the queendom still needs you to make appearances and to make the decisions.”

 

“At least let us finish here,” Rachel protests. “I can’t finish with you here hounding me like some ghost.”

 

Snorting, Santana nods and disappears behind the heavy double doors of the queen’s inner chamber. Rachel returns her attentions to Quinn, warm mouth and pink lips still wrapped around the base of her thick cock. Quinn eases her mouth away for a moment, spit clinging to the crown of Rachel’s cock. She swallows, lips puckered, to drag against the queen’s length.

 

“Quinn, please,” Rachel begs. “As much as I enjoy your teasing, Santana will make fun of me all day if I walk out of here with my cock so hard between my legs.”

 

Laughing, Quinn licks the crown of Rachel’s meat and curls her around it. Languid strokes, squeezing occasionally, has Rachel’s thighs trembling from the slippery sensation of it. “I always take care of your Majesty,” Quinn purrs, her lips soft and her tongue swirling around the sensitive cockhead. “I only tease my queen because I love the pulsing of this thick meat against my lips, the taste of precum on my tongue.” She dips the wet muscle into the gasping slit that oozes clear streams of Rachel’s cum, drawing her tongue away to swallow it. Quinn wraps both hands around Rachel’s meat now, and pumps faster, palms twisting and her mouth slurping greedily on the head.

 

“Here it comes,” Rachel croaks out. Her cock throbs, and the first spurt of many lands on Quinn’s tongue. She sucks, her cheeks forming dips with the suction she maintains. Mouth lowering deeper until she has all of Rachel’s pulsing shaft buried in her eager, clenching throat.

 

Her Highness collapses on the mountain of pillows, her body convulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her blood pounding through her veins in a wild rush. She wheezes. “I need a minute,” she says through parched throat, just as Quinn eases her mouth off her meat, still teetering, slick and shiny with spit and semen.

 

Quinn sits up and Rachel watches her, catlike in her laziness and grace. “Do you think I have time to make you come, or do you think Santana would have my crown if I linger too long?” She asks, cupping the back of Quinn’s neck to kiss her, tasting the sweetbitter of her cum on her tongue.

 

“Doesn’t your steward know that your crown is mine?” Quinn’s lips curl and so does her hand around the head of Rachel’s cock. “And besides, your Majesty doesn’t have to do anything,” Quinn smiles, but Rachel shakes her head, disagreeing. Attention bisecting between her handmaiden’s hand and her inquiring brow.

 

“I don’t do it out of duty, you know that. I do it because I love how you taste. I love feeling your thighs shaking against my cheek,” Rachel notices Quinn’s thighs clenching together and she grins a little too smugly. “I see you are keen on that idea as I am.”

 

“I’m considering it, your Highness,” Quinn laughs. She releases Rachel’s meat and kisses her cheek. “However, as much as I desire you between my legs, your queendom needs you as much as I do, perhaps more so.”

 

Rachel sighs and pulls on her clothes. She searches for a velvet cloak while Quinn dresses in a red dress that makes her look more inviting. Now fully dressed, Rachel steps out of her inner chamber and into the outer with Quinn by her side. Santana falls into step behind the pair, and the three of them walk out to the dining hall where breakfast is laid out before them. Rachel sits at the head of the table, Quinn on her right, while Santana brings a stack of letters on a silver platter. The queen picks up her toast as well as a document and spends some time reading through it.

 

When something drags against her leg, however, she looks up and her gaze meets Quinn’s. Her eyelids are half-closed, a delicate smile forms on her lips as she licks jam from the corners of her mouth. “Darling,” Rachel says in a strict voice that loses its effect when it wavers. “How’s your breakfast?”

 

“The jam is particularly sweet this morning, your majesty,” Quinn drawls. Her toe skates along the length of Rachel’s stockinged legs to the apex of her thighs. She presses against the queen’s crotch and grins, her cock already stiff. “How about yours, my queen?”

 

Rachel coughs and averts her stare. “It is… adequate.” She turns to Santana and murmurs a request for quill, ink, and parchment to reply to some of the letters of request. Santana disappears from the dining hall for a moment. Rachel catches Quinn’s foot by her ankles to still her movements.

 

“Do you think Santana would notice if I disappear just for a moment?” Quinn asks, a tone of innocent that Rachel knew to be anything but.

 

“And where will you disappear to, Quinn?”

 

“Under this table,” Quinn replies, lowering her foot and scooting her chair closer to Rachel’s so her palm cups the swell in her trousers. She strokes the queen’s rigid meat and licks her lips, and Rachel remembers the way her lips wraps around her girth, the greedy suction of her mouth, the filthy sound of her slurping. “So I can have your Majesty’s cock in my mouth once again.”

 

“You do not have time for that, I’m afraid,” Santana’s piercing voice cuts through the haze of their shared lust. “Your Highness must finish breaking fast and attend to court business _immediately_.”

 

Rachel leans back against the high back of her chair. She wants to groan, but finds it unqueenly to do so. She settles for murmuring a prayer to no god in particular for the strength to take on the day without ending up in the privacy of her chambers and take Quinn. She clears her throat and catches Quinn smiling at her. Her heart flutters in her chest and she smiles back.

 

Rising to her feet, Rachel drapes her cloak to hide the front of her body where currently, her trousers are stretched taut across the thickness of her hard cock. “I’ll see you later, for _lunch_.” She looks into her handmaiden’s eye, her tone loaded with meaning.

 

“I anticipate the hours,” Quinn murmurs, kissing the line of Rachel’s jaw. “I think I will enjoy the sunshine today. I’ll go out into the garden and read. Or perhaps I will go riding.”

 

“Without me?” Rachel remarks, and Quinn laughs.

 

“Perhaps later, then.” Quinn kisses Rachel’s mouth and smiles. “Good luck with court, and please know that I will be thinking of your Highness the entire time we are apart.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rachel saunters the length of the corridor with Santana by her side, listing off a series of business for her to tackle for the day.

 

“The neighbouring Prince Blaine of Westerville seeks to open up an agreement for free trade between our two countries,” Santana reads.

 

“Again? What could he possibly have that we want?”

 

“Products for the hair to make it sleek and shiny, as well as a type of fabric that is naturally blue, like the night sky is the way they described it in this letter, your Highness.”

 

Rachel hums and they enter the throne room where already a crowd has gathered, seeking audience with the queen. Four soldiers poised at the foot of the steps where her throne sits in all of its gild and cushioned glory, click their heels and salutes. Rachel nods back.

 

“Denied. Prepare the army and attack their borders.”

 

“Your Majesty!”

 

Rachel sighs. “I can’t even joke about this?” Santana barks out a laugh and shakes her head. “Still, deny him entry. I have no need for his basic goods when my queendom makes them better than his.”

 

“This is the fifth time you refused his request, even to honour and visit you in court,” Santana points out. “He might not be so forgiving the next time. He might prepare to attack us.”

 

The queen sits on the throne and an attendant lowers her crown to her head. A golden affair, beautifully-wrought and weighty with jewels that shimmer from the sunlight. Only wearing it upon her head, Rachel feels her power. “Let him. That way, he’ll understand and finally take ‘no’ for an answer.”

 

Rachel begins court, and one by one, she listens to the pleas of her citizens. Merchants seeking to open businesses, a tall, dark-haired man who works with fixing and improving the armaments hoping to show her Majesty his new and improved bombard weaponry for assaults and sieges. Rachel redirects him to visit her army general, since she knows very little of the sort, and she trusts her general completely. Finally, when the more common audience are over and done with, Rachel calls for her general to the stand. General Pierce, clad in her cape and regalia and flanked by four soldiers, dips her head and flashes Rachel a smile.

 

“I wish to report that my scouts saw Westerville troops lingering on the western side, opposing the lake,” Brittany announces. “They are about a week’s march away, and I need to know what your majesty intends to do about it.”

 

Shooting her steward a look, Rachel laces her fingers together and takes in a deep breath. “To arms, General. I’m afraid the Westerville prince intends to make an unwarranted visit. Stop him at all costs. Make sure he knows I have no need for him.”

 

“In that case, will your Highness allow me to open up the army for recruits?”

 

“Will a week be enough for basic training and maneuver?”

 

Brittany shakes her head. “I’m afraid not, but I intend to use the new recruits for basic tasks, and not have them at the forefront of the battle. Especially with the new siege cannons, there will be a great need for spare workers to transport gunpowder and shot between bombards.”

 

For a moment, Rachel pauses. “How did you know about the new siege engine, General?”

 

Brittany maintains a straight face, though Rachel sees the tiny curl of her upper lip. The queen hides her amusement behind her palm. She is not privy to everyone’s affairs, but she knows a secret when it presents itself before her in court, arms splayed out, demanding to be witnessed. “I heard it being discussed as I was waiting for my turn to speak with your Highness.”

 

“I see. You are, of course, correct regarding the new artillery. In fact, I told the engineer to meet you so you two can talk.”

 

The general lowers her head, but Rachel sees the glint of her teeth, lips curled into a smile. “Thank you, your majesty. I shall speak with him right away.”

 

Rachel dismisses everyone and she rises to her feet to head to her private offices, where a stack of documents are waiting for her to read and to stamp with the royal seal. She stretches her limbs over her head and looks out the clerestory. The expanse of emerald green fields and the bright sun shimmering upon the lake by her castle fills her with longing. Rachel sighs and sits down on her chair, her back to the window.

 

“There’s another thing left to discuss, your Highness,” Santana cuts through the silence of quill scratching against parchment. The queen looks at her steward, lowers her writing tool, and clasps her hands together to rest her chin upon it. The tips of her fingers coated with black ink. “The council has reminded me to remind you of the subject of marriage.”

 

The topic Rachel most loathed rises to the surface, and she refuses to hear any of it much to Santana’s protests. “You _must_ marry to form alliances, your Grace.” She insists, voice transforming into an authoritative growl. “You have ruled for three years without thinking of marriage. It is time to put your selfishness behind you and think of the queendom.”

 

“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing all along? Every waking moment of my life is spent bettering my queendom. Am I not allowed to form alliances without marrying another member of the royalty? Am I not allowed to have one thing for myself, and that is to choose who I am to marry?”

 

“You do have a choice, but it is to be a political one.” Santana retorts. “I have compiled a list of those who have asked for your hand in marriage—”

 

The queen looks away from her steward and moves to stand by the floor to ceiling windows, arms clasped against her back. “I refuse to look at any of those.”

 

“If I may speak candidly, your Highness…”

 

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all this time, Lopez?”

 

“You must stop acting like a spoiled child. You may be queen, and so your queendom must come first. I understand that you have this notion of marrying for _love_ ,” Santana drawls the word as if it disgusts her, and Rachel shoots her a filthy look. “But that is not to be. You will look at these marriage proposals and make a calculated decision.” She thrusts the stack of papers to the queen and looks at her as if urging her to put up a fight.

 

“I don’t want any of these princes or princesses. I want to marry Quinn.”

 

Santana freezes. She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. “Your _handmaiden_ , your Majesty? I’m afraid that is not a possibility. She is of high birth, but her connections are limited. The council would never let that marriage pass.”

 

Rachel slams the papers on her desk. “Fuck the council! I am not to marry if it is not with Quinn.” She says. Her eyes shine bright with the strength of her decision. “Call me spoiled and idealistic, because that is what I am. And what I also am, is a queen who marries for love.”

 

“How could you possibly love Quinn when all she is to you is your handmaiden, the one who keeps your bed and your body warm at nights?” Santana demands. “Marrying Quinn will not have any effect on your status, and you will be mocked for marrying beneath you.”

 

 The queen clenches her fists, fuming. “You will _not_ speak of Quinn in that manner, do you understand me?”

 

The steward is silent for a moment before standing in front of Rachel’s desk. Her palms collide against the surface and she, with a flourish, picks up a sheet of parchment that holds the details of one of the marriage candidates. “Why not marry this lady, your Grace? She claims to have a pale complexion, just like Quinn, with a head of blonde hair, a full mouth—”

 

“That’s precisely it. They are _claims_ , Santana.”

 

“Would you rather they come and visit you, then?”

 

Rachel sighed. “No, that’s not it.” Her exasperation has a positive effect on Santana, and it serves to anger her more. “I should send you to the gaol for annoying me like this.” She mutters.

 

“Yes, but you will be lost without me,” Santana says with casual airs. “What about this one? A duke from the north. Our supplier of woods and sugars. A wealthy prospect.”

 

Rachel opens her mouth to retort, but the heavy doors that lead into her chambers open, and in steps her golden girl, clad in red that brings out the pink in her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes. Just seeing Quinn is enough of a thrill, and Rachel cannot help but smile. “We shall talk about this later.”

 

“Or how about this? The Princess from the northern lake area, from a long-standing water-faring family. Her ships would provide us with an arsenal, lest you wish to expand beyond the seas.”

 

Rachel, eyes still trained on Quinn, witnesses her pearly teeth sink into her bottom lip. “Santana, in the name of your queen, I bid you to _shut your mouth_!”

 

The steward whirls and catches sight of Quinn. “I apologize,” she says to Quinn, before bowing her head to Rachel. “I will have your meal sent up here so you two may dine in peace.” Santana leaves, and then there is silence.

 

Quinn approaches Rachel’s desk and picks up a marriage proposal. “I know her from when I was a young girl.” She sits on the arm chair, legs crossed. “Her marriage proposal does not mention it, but she is… a bit of a whiner, sensitive to shifts in temperature. And a picky eater as well. She hates eating anything with green in it.”

 

“You know her?”

 

“When I was a child, yes.”

 

Rachel lowers her arms to rest on the table and opens her palms out which Quinn takes. “I did not intend for you to hear my conversation with Santana earlier.”

 

“Oh, but I had no doubt that you talk of marriage, your Highness.” Quinn’s lips curl, but there is a weight to it. “I know that you must marry someone of higher status. I am, after all, only your handmaiden. This comes as no surprise to me.”

 

“But…” Rachel frowns. She stands, moves around the desk and sits on the arm rest of Quinn’s seat. “Does it not bother you? That I am to take a wife or a husband?”

 

“It is not my place to say, your Majesty.”

 

“If I ask your opinion of it, it means I wish to know what you think, Quinn.”

 

The blonde woman takes in a deep breath and rises to her feet. She guides Rachel to sit on the arm chair, and she sinks on her lap. Hands on the queen’s shoulders, Quinn places soft, fleeting kisses along the corner of her mouth. “It does not bother me, your Highness, that you are going to marry someone who is not I. Someone who will contribute to your worldly endeavours in a way that I cannot.” Quinn kisses Rachel’s plump mouth and smiles, fingers curling into the nape of her neck to tease the short hairs she finds there. “It does not bother me, but it makes my heart ache with the prospect of its imminent emptiness.”

 

The fault, Rachel sees now, lies with her. She is the one who allowed her attachment to Quinn to grow into what it is now: a longing that borders on impropriety. An impossibility that she can only hope to change. To marry someone lowborn is political and social suicide. Her head, her common sense, calls Rachel’s plight what it truly is. A mistake. Only her heart calls it by a different name, equally valid: true love.

 

“However, I am not worried. It seems,” Quinn tucks a lock of Rachel’s hair behind her ear and leaves a trail of kisses along her cheek. “Your Majesty forgets that she can have a mistress.”

 

“And that is what you intend to be? My mistress?” Rachel’s arms curl around Quinn’s hips and draws her closer.

 

“I intend to be anything, your Highness, so long as you call me yours.”

 

Rachel rests her forehead against Quinn’s chest where she hears the rush of blood. Her heart beats steady like hers, and she is unable to resist. She presses a kiss along the bones of her collar, the dip in her throat. She undoes the strings of Quinn’s dress. Pulls the fabric down to expose her plump, full tits. The queen takes a nipple into her mouth and sucks it leisurely.

 

“Are you to marry the Princess of Lorain then?”

 

Rachel stiffens and looks up at Quinn. “I don’t know, and I’d rather not talk about it.” She pulls away and presses a finger to her temples. “I really don’t know what to do in that regard.”

 

“Hold a ball to meet the possible candidates,” Quinn suggests while she fixes her dress. A servant enters, startled for a moment. Rachel waves him over to begin serving them. “It will be a good opportunity to strengthen ties and make further political connections. Sooner or later you will have to, your Majesty. And if you do meet them, at least you will know what to expect to see when you choose who to marry.”

 

The servant scurries out as soon as he has entered, leaving Quinn and Rachel alone once more. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” the queen huffs.

 

“As you wish, my queen,” the handmaiden murmurs, kissing Rachel’s cheek. She slides off the chair to make a cup of tea. “But refusing to talk about the matter will never make it go away.”

 

“I am the queen. What I say, goes, doesn’t it?”

 

“You are being petulant, your Highness,” Quinn hands Rachel the first cup of tea she makes. Rachel drinks from it, hums at the taste. Easing herself further into the stuffed arm chair, she stirs the amber liquid.

 

“I’m starving,” Rachel says, seemingly out of nowhere.

 

“Exactly why the servants brought you lunch.”

 

“No, not for food.” Rachel sets her teacup on the table. She squeezes Quinn’s thighs. “We were interrupted before I can reciprocate to you this morning, and I intend to be a good queen and I intend to return all the favours done unto me.”

 

Quinn laughs and rises to her feet, only to climb the arm chair to sit on Rachel’s lap, facing her. “Is that so, your Majesty?” She hikes up her dress, exposes her strong, milky thighs.

 

The queen palms her handmaiden’s ass and pulls her closer against her body. “Stand up on the arms of the chair,” Rachel orders, her lust so evident in her tone of voice, “hike up your dress and let me see that gorgeous pussy of yours.”

 

Doing as the queen asks, Quinn rises and lifts up her skirts. She exposes herself with a shudder, her eyes darting to the door lest anyone comes in. Rachel, however, is past caring. Palms flat on the swell of Quinn’s ass, she pulls her close, mouth parted, to latch on the plump mound of Quinn’s core. Her tongue slides up slick folds, sticky juice immediately clinging to her taste buds.

 

Her eyes roll to the back of her head at the heady taste of Quinn’s pussy. Rachel gropes her ass tighter, flesh bulging out between spread fingers. The broken gasp that spills out of Quinn’s pink mouth causes her cock to stir in her breeches.

 

“Oh, yes… Y-Your Highness…” Quinn’s kittenish whimpers, the quivering of her thighs, the subtle movements of her hips all drive Rachel mad with desire. She possessively grips Quinn’s thighs, spreads them apart, and slides her eager, curling tongue into the wet dip of her pussy. There, the musky taste of Quinn’s cum is headier, stronger.

 

Quinn hooks both legs over Rachel’s shoulders so her knees are pressed against the cushioned back of the chair. Grasping the chair for support, Quinn has one hand fisting her skirts so as not to shield the view of the queen’s features buried against her mound. Quinn spreads her pussy apart, allowing her the sight of Rachel’s tongue darting in and out, trailing against her inner walls.

 

“Lick here,” she points at the stiff bud that her Highness’ nose bumps every now and then, making Quinn’s thighs tense. The queen drags her wet, slippery tongue to Quinn’s clit and licks it with the flat of her tongue.

 

Unable to control herself, Quinn grasps the hair on the back of Rachel’s neck and _humps_ her mouth with greedy insistence. “ _Yesyesyes,_ ” she breathes, her tits heaving as she nears her orgasm. Her thick thighs tighten around her Majesty’s cheeks, and Quinn cries out. Rachel’s tongue, still playing lavish attention to the stiff bud of Quinn’s clit, pushes her off the brink. “Oh goodness, right there, your Grace!”

 

The handmaiden’s cum gushes out of her empty hole and coats the queen’s chin with it. Rachel hums happily, palms stroking Quinn’s quivering thighs while her tongue slides into her clenching, grasping hole. She drags her tongue along her folds, her slick pussy lips a few times before easing Quinn off her mouth to sit on her lap. Her cock pokes out of the fabric of her clothes. “You are delectable, as always,” Rachel murmurs against the slope of Quinn’s shoulder.

 

“And you, your Majesty, are always so talented with your tongue.” Quinn says, her breathing still heavy. “Shall I do something about this?” She slips her hand between her legs as if to touch herself, but her hand curls around Rachel’s shaft and gives it a squeeze. “Shall I put it in my mouth again, suck it dry, or shall I let my pussy do the milking this time, your Grace?”

 

Rachel releases a steady stream of breath, her cock pulsing against her handmaiden’s grip. “Yes.”

 

Quinn looks at her in amusement. “You did not answer my question. It is one or the other, your Highness.”

 

The queen bucks into her hand. “I want to feel the velvety slickness of your pussy,” she murmurs, lifting her hips so Quinn can tug her trousers low enough for her heavy, pulsing cock to bounce out and slap her belly. She holds it upright and Quinn lifts herself. “Slowly,” Rachel husks. “I want to feel every inch of myself sliding inside your heat.”

 

Quinn does as the queen bids. She positions her slick core against the tip of her meat and sinks down on it, her walls quivering and tensing against her heavy cock. Rachel watches, enthralled at the warmest sensation that envelopes her. She grasps Quinn’s hips and tilts her neck upwards to kiss her.

 

The blonde woman palms the back of Rachel’s neck. Her hips swirl with seductive motions that cause Rachel’s toes to curl from the intense pleasure of it. “Faster,” she whimpers, urging Quinn, her own hips rising from the seat to buck into Quinn’s pussy.

 

And Quinn does as Rachel demands. She plants the flat of her feet against the seat and she grips the top rail of the chair so she won’t fall. Her butt claps against Rachel’s thighs, and the monarch’s body trembles. She stares at Quinn’s pussy lips, splitting apart to take her thick cock.

 

“I’m about to come,” Rachel gasps out. She holds Quinn to her chest and pounds into her with an erratic rhythm. Quinn grasps her jaw and kisses her, tongue curling inside her mouth to lick the back of Rachel’s teeth.

 

The queen trembles and yanks her pulsing meat out of Quinn’s pussy and unloads thick ropes of semen all over her mound. Quinn pins her against the back of the chair and grinds her plump folds up and down Rachel’s shaft, more cum spilling out and drenching her belly, while the queen breathes raggedly.

 

Swallowing hard, Rachel summons what little strength she has remaining and lifts Quinn up to alter their position. Now, Quinn is on the arm chair and Rachel is sinking to her knees, licking the delectable length of her alabaster thighs. “Your Grace, you have no need to get on your knees like that—”

 

Rachel ignores Quinn and hikes her legs over her shoulder. Her tongue curls against her clit, licks the streaks of semen she leaves there, and then suckles eagerly on Quinn’s stiff clit. She hums, allowing filthy, wet sounds to spill from her greedy mouth.

 

Quinn digs her heels against the queen’s back, her thighs already quivering. “I’m coming, your Grace…” She whines, squirming and humping against Rachel’s tongue while it flicks against her clit. Her lips tug on the stiff bud, and it sends Quinn over the brink. Cum gushes out of her pussy and coats Rachel’s chin with it. The queen lets out a delighted hum, licks down to the slick hole of Quinn’s pussy, and eases her tongue inside to lick the cum from her walls.

 

The handmaiden, blissed out and limp from her orgasm, guides Rachel to rise. “A queen should not go down on her knees like that,” she reprimands Rachel, her thumb dragging against her bottom lip to clean away the cum there. Rachel catches her thumb into her mouth and sucks it clean.

 

“A queen does whatever she wants,” she retorts.

 

“Not when it borders on impropriety, your Grace.”

 

“I don’t see what is so improper about that.”

 

“You sinking to your knees to pleasure a _servant_ , your Highness, is improper in every light.”

 

Rachel sighs and sits herself on the arm chair beside Quinn to pick up a sandwich, sliced into triangles and crusts removed just. “You’re more than a servant to me, Quinn. Please don’t refer to yourself as such anymore.”

 

The blonde handmaiden fixes her clothes and her hair as well as she could without a brush nor a mirror. “Forgive me, your Majesty, but it is the truth and I refuse to balk from it.”

 

“Very well,” Rachel concedes. “Just don’t do it in my presence.”

 

Something shimmers in Quinn’s half-lidded eyes. She bites her lip and nods.

 

* * *

 

Once the lunch plates and cups have been cleared away, Rachel offers her arm to Quinn, who takes it with a curtsy and a light laugh. Together they walk out into the garden, with its winding gravel path that loops around the pond. Ducks quack, and geese honk, as her Majesty and her handmaiden take a calming walk. The queen observes the play of light against the calm waters, the roses in full bloom, and the content smile on Quinn’s features.

 

As far as her personal life goes, Rachel blooms with contentment. It brings her warmth, much like the sun warming her back, with Quinn’s fingers interlaced with hers. The soothing breeze carries the scent of leaves and wheat, allowing Rachel to take deep breaths.

 

They round the path and Quinn kisses Rachel’s cheek as they part ways. Rachel to her offices, and Quinn to the library. As much as Rachel would like for her to bring her books to her office so she can work while in Quinn’s presence, the handmaiden gently declines, knowing of Rachel’s propensity to get distracted and inclination to use Quinn as her scapegoat.

 

Grumbling, Rachel arrives at her offices where Santana is compiling stacks of letters and requests on her desk. Rachel sits, cracks her knuckles, and picks up her feather pen to work.

 

“I wish to hold a ball,” Rachel says once she has finished reading and signing the contracts she agrees with, while Santana puts them in piles according to subject matter. “For the marriage candidates you think is best for me to marry.”

 

“That’s good to hear, your Grace,” Santana jots it down in her book. “What changed your mind regarding marriage, if I may ask?”

 

“It is Quinn’s idea,” Rachel sits back and rolls her neck, joints popping back into place. She stands up and stretches her arms over her head. “She said I ought to give the candidates a chance if I were to be a good leader for my people.”

 

At this, Santana nibbles on the tip of her quill. “I see. But I hardly see what made her convince you, seeing as she only repeated what I said.”

 

“She told me I may have a mistress, and while I am still hesitant in that regard, she forced me to realize that it is close to impossible for us to marry. As much as it pains me to say it, you were right, Santana.”

 

The steward flashes the queen a smug grin. She gathers the parchment stacks of letters and missives to send along with the messengers. The queen, alone for a brief moment, dines alone in her chamber, a book propped open in her lap. In truth, she yearns for Quinn to finish in the library so she may spend more time with her after a long day of signing papers.

 

She chastises herself for being clingy, so unbecoming of a queen. Summoning a maid, she asks her to draw her a hot bath, hoping that Quinn will arrive soon to join her in it. Easing herself into the marble tub, steam rising from the soapy water, Rachel closes her eyes and allows the warmth to envelop her. The sweet scent of lavender and cream lulls her to such a relaxed state that she drifts off into the land of fragrant dreams.

 

The sound of splashing water stirs her awake before she sinks further into the depth of sleep. Rachel opens her eyes and is met with the vision of a naked Quinn easing herself into the tub before her. “I did not mean to wake you, your Majesty,” the handmaiden whispers, easing herself on top of the queen’s lap. Rachel’s breath catches. Quinn’s slippery skin glides against her own, and the warmth of her flesh, the cleft of her pussy stroking Rachel’s cock makes the queen gasp and hold her tight against her body.

 

“This is infinitely better than sleep.” Rachel guides Quinn’s legs around her waist, her cock stiffening against her inner thighs. “You know I would rather be with you always over anything else.”

 

Quinn’s hand slides between their bodies to guide Rachel’s cock into her warm, waiting pussy. “H-how was your work in the library today?”

 

Quinn’s movements form surfs that lap at the edge of the tub. Water spills against the stone floor, but Rachel pays it no mind. The rocking of Quinn’s body, like an undulating wave, paired with the slick heat that envelopes Rachel’s cock inside her brings her to her figurative knees. And her literal ones, if she is to stand.

 

“My translations for the book of poetry is nearly finished,” Quinn’s hips churn in delectable circles. Rachel’s entire body thrums with heat and her own hips rise to meet Quinn’s movements. “However, I need a few more reference texts before I can fully say that I am finished with it—”

 

A sharp rap of knuckles against the wooden doorframe makes Rachel jerk. Water splashes out of the tub and Quinn, eyes wide, stills Rachel by placing her hands on her shoulders. “Who is it?” The queen croaks out.

 

“I’m sorry to bother your Highness,” the old, wizened voice of the master of the books echoes against the stone walls of the bathroom. “But a number of scholars are in my library seeking permission to access the books of your family history.”

 

Rachel buries her face against Quinn’s chest and groans, due to the interruption as well as Quinn’s fingers massaging her scalp while she continues to ride her cock. “How many are they, and what do they want to know?”

 

“How your family ascended to the throne, your Grace, and the wars fought and lost.”

 

With a sigh, Rachel palms Quinn’s ass and fucks harder into her, the librarian be damned. “Allow them access, then. My family has nothing to hide.”

 

“That is so, your Grace. Oh, and before I leave… Mistress Quinn, I found the reference texts you requested. They shall be at your desk when you return to the library tower tomorrow.”

 

Quinn bites her lip and smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

 

The footsteps echo and taper off. Once Rachel is sure that they are fully alone, she lifts Quinn to sit on the platform at the edge of the tub and begins to slam her hips, stomach flexing, into Quinn’s pussy. Her cock oversensitive from being immersed from the clenching warmth, she is already close to the peak of pleasure.

 

“Oh, _Rachel_ ,” Quinn arches her back, her hole tightening, grasping Rachel’s shaft. The monarch’s eyes widen at the unbelievable tightness and barely manages to pull out. She pumps her meat in her hand in a rapid pace, shooting cum all over Quinn’s stomach and slick pussy lips.

 

She slaps her cock against Quinn’s mound. Rubs her cockhead against Quinn’s clit until she too, is screaming and coming. She trembles, clinging to Rachel’s neck to draw her in for a greedy kiss.

 

The queen rests against Quinn’s body for a minute until her breathing evens out. Picking up the washcloth that has been abandoned in favour of Quinn’s body, Rachel uses it to wipe her stomach clean. Together they leave the tub and pull the stopper to drain it. They dry their damp bodies and don matching silk robes. Into the queen’s inner chamber they go, the scent of spicy candles burning in a ceramic plate to fill the chamber with a heady aroma.

 

Warm from the bath and her orgasm, Rachel eases herself beneath the fluffy bedcovers, Quinn following beside her. “Come here,” she murmurs, opening up her arms. Quinn sinks into her embrace, her damp skin sticking against Rachel’s, but she doesn’t mind. “Can you help Santana plan the ball for the next few weeks?” Rachel asks, lips pressing against the handmaiden’s brow.

 

Quinn remains silent. But she nods. “Of course, your Grace. Anything for you.”

 

The queen closes her eyes and pulls Quinn tighter. “Thank you, Quinn. For everything.”

 

While Rachel sleeps, Quinn clings to her, afraid to let go. The queen just personally asked her to prepare the ball that will essentially marry her off to someone with a status more fitting to pair with the queen. The blonde handmaiden bites her lip and buries her features against the skin of Rachel’s throat. She chokes back a sob, the inevitable event she has been preparing herself for ever since entering Rachel’s service as her handmaiden is finally dawning upon her.

 

And there is nothing she can do but accept it.


	2. Chapter 2

Amidst a pile of rolled parchments that teeter, threatening to fall, Quinn reads through another plea for a neighbouring country to visit for the queen’s ball. Knowledge of the event has quickly spread through word of mouth, and of course, the regal documents had to be released weeks early prior to the official proclamation of Queen Rachel’s desire to marry.

 

Quinn, tasked with the planning of the bulk of the festivities, sits behind the heavy, dark oak desk where usually only the queen has the authority to take seat. Rachel, with no words uttered, extended her permission to Quinn, for she was away, travelling westward to the country’s borders where a threat of war broiled against Prince Blaine of Westerville.

 

Leaning against the plush softness of the velvet back of the armchair, Quinn stretches her arms over her head and yawns open-mouthed. Certainly not a ladylike thing to do, but she allows herself the laxity in manners, since no one, not even Rachel is around. She has been writing down the events for the six days of festivities, coordinating them so that there will be a pause between the sporting events for artistic performances, ones that the queen will surely favour.

 

For months, Quinn worked if only to distract herself from the problem worrying at the back of her mind. The inevitable event of Rachel’s marriage means that she will lose her queen in the worst possible way, that is, to another person for the sake of political connections and peace between kingdoms. How unfair it is to be in love with a monarch of all people, one who has the power in the entire land, but has little to say toward who they are to marry.

 

Rising to her feet, Quinn looks beyond the bay window. She sees from a distance, a rider with a chestnut brown horse riding as fast as his steed could carry him. Curiosity mingles with her desire to stretch her legs, and so Quinn gathers her dress, slips on a robe to protect her from the early autumn breeze, and heads out to the courtyard.

 

There, Santana is already ushering the rider into one of the sitting rooms. A maid offers refreshments, and after a deep drink of water, he wipes his lips and clears his throat. “The queen wishes to announce that the campaign was fought and won. A total victory and annihilation of Westerville forces that sent Prince Blaine retreating with his tail between his legs.” The soldier-rider grins proudly. “I was there too, and let me tell you, Queen Rachel is the fiercest field marshal I had the honour of serving.”

 

“Thank you for your message. That’s certainly a relief to hear. Did the queen tell you about her plans for return?”

 

“Her majesty assigned me to deliver this letter. But…” The soldier looks at Santana and then at Quinn who stands by the doorway. The steward turns and their eyes meet. “The letter is addressed to a Miss Quinn Fabray.”

 

Approaching the travel-worn soldier, Quinn accepts the folded letter closed with the queen’s seal of a simple star in yellow wax. “Thank you for delivering me news of my queen, sir.” She tells the young man who smiles and nods bashfully. Unable to hide her anticipation, Quinn pries the letter open, breaking the wax, and reads.

 

_My dearest and loveliest Quinn,_

_How are you? I have no doubt that Evans told you all about our victory over Blaine and his measly army. I’m writing to you and only you, because nothing has been ever-present in my mind other than you, all of you. I long to sleep by your side once more, to feel your porcelain skin gliding like water against my own. Your warmth, enough to melt glaciers with a single touch, makes me weak with just the thought of feeling it once more._

_I intend to return in two weeks’ time. Until then, I hope you are faring well which I have no doubt that you are. My smart, brilliant, charming lady, I am counting down the days until I am able to taste your lips and hear the steady pulsing of your heartbeat to lull me to the most peaceful sleep. I can only send my adoration through my scribblings written in ink, but I pray that my longing for you is as clear as the sun in the sea of the blue sky. My body, my soul, my mind, my heart longs for you, and I hope you long for me with the same intensity._

_Yours, truly and irrevocably,_

_Rachel_

 

Quinn stands still for a moment, her eyes locked on the way Rachel loops her letters, the way she crosses her t’s and dots her i’s. She folds it neatly and tucks it in the pocket of her robes. “Her majesty intends to return in two weeks, enough for the preparations for her betrothal week to be finalized.” She thanks the messenger again and excuses herself to Rachel’s office.

 

Opening the letter once more, she reads and rereads. Her legs weaken, she collapses on the overstuffed armchair and holds the letter to her chest. Her longing, she is sure, can fill a void.

 

* * *

With the early buds of spring bringing forth new life, new colour invigorates in the gardens of the palace, Quinn spends most of her time in sunshine, amidst flourishing lilies. A wall of roses provide her with seclusion, its petals in varied shades of pink and red, all reminding her of the queen. They took frequent walks together, sitting in wrought iron benches cold beneath the backs of Rachel’s thighs, while it is cold against Quinn’s knees. She remembers the fragrant flowers, and with it, she is filled with further longing for her majesty’s lips.

 

Quinn occasionally sits with Santana while they work to maintain the castle by attacking mounds of paperwork. Palace visitations were put on hold due to Rachel’s absence, but the simple matters that had to do with governance, Santana handled. The absence of the queen made the walls of the castle echo with loneliness. Without her majesty, the castle is nothing but a hollowed building with no heart to call its own.

 

Lost in her thoughts, Quinn does not hear the panting footman as he emerges between the rows of tulips that frame the path. “There you are, Lady Quinn. There is a letter in the castle for you. Lady Santana says it is urgent.”

 

Quinn stands to her feet, book forgotten on the bench beside her. “Another letter? Is it about the queen? Is she alright?”

 

“Her royal highness is fine, milady. It’s of a different matter entirely. Please, come with me back to the castle.”

 

Quinn cannot, for the life of her, think of what it is that could be of importance for her that has nothing to do with the queen nor the queen’s kingdom. The footman politely carried the stack of books Quinn had with her as they walk the length of the tessellated path, past the stone fountains, back to the castle. Quinn retreats to the queen’s offices where Santana is waiting.

 

“What is so urgent, Santana, that it cannot wait?” Quinn asks, breathless from the long, hurried walk. The steward says nothing, motioning to a sealed envelope upon the desk, holding the Fabray coat of arms.

 

Breaking the seal, Quinn reads, hands trembling with every word. She collapses on an armchair as if a weight shoved her into it. Her legs weak, her stomach churning for fear of the unknown.

 

“My father is dying… And his advisors need me there for official family business.”

 

Quinn had never been close to her father. He was made a duke, trading his daughter for the title when Queen Rachel ascended to the throne. Up to that point, Quinn had no care for politics, only saw it as a topic to study under the supervision of her tutors. It was her father’s steward, not even her father himself, who interrupted Quinn’s review of wars and conquests led by the Berry dynasty. The newly-crowned Queen Rachel, the steward had said, was looking for lady courtiers from noble families and those who offered up their daughters would rise in nobility and gain favour with the queen. Of course, the current Count Fabray, rushed at the opportunity.

 

She may have traded her ancestral home in favour of the queen’s bedchambers due to her father’s ambition, but that was not enough for her to love him. She appreciates his actions as it guided her to Rachel, but she is not filled with grief. After all, how can a daughter love a man she barely knew, even if he was her father?

 

“Do you intend to go back home?”

 

Quinn releases a shaky sigh, face cupped in her hands. “I do not think of anywhere else as my home but here,” she says softly. “Though I think I must go, but not so soon. Rachel is coming home within the week and I know for a fact that she will be disappointed to find me gone when she arrives. I will wait until she is settled before I tell her that I must leave. In the meantime, I must prepare for it.”

 

Santana gathers Quinn into a hug, her features buried against the curve of the steward’s neck. “Whatever you need, Quinn, I’m sure Rachel will give to you. Until then, sit down and I’ll bring you a cup of something strong.”

 

The days do not move fast enough for Quinn, and so her impatience runs high. Even on the day that is the projected arrival of the queen, her handmaiden refuses to sit and rest. She makes sure that Rachel’s favourite meal is ready and warm in the kitchens, triple-checked that her offices bears the fragrant smell of rose petals and sandalwood. That the cushions of her throne was aired and warmed by the heat of the sun.

 

“Relax, Quinn. You’re making me dizzy with all that walking around.” Santana complains, though she herself refuses to sit down. They are in the foyer, the sunlight streaming through the crystal panes. The great double doors of the palace are wide open with a clear view of the path that would lead the victorious queen back to her home.

 

Quinn fidgets with the train of her dress, made of carmine silk. One of Rachel’s favourite dresses because of how easy it is to remove it from Quinn’s body. It seems inappropriate to wear such vibrant colours with her father in the brink of death, but Quinn shrugs it off. She doesn’t want to alarm Rachel, for she is sure to interrupt the marriage preparations so Quinn may mourn.

 

Quinn sinks on a nearby chair and brushes the hair that frames her features. “My anticipation is killing me, Santana. I haven’t seen Rachel in months. And to have her so close... I have half the mind to mount my horse and ride out to meet her and demand what’s taking so long!”

 

Santana laughs and shakes her head. “I’m sure Queen Rachel would appreciate that.”

 

“The queen has arrived!!” A loud, welcome voice cheered and Quinn hears the clamor of Rachel’s train before she even sees the flag bearers and the drummers that keep the train moving in the same, rhythmic pace. Moments later, Quinn sees the head of the train. Alongside the queen rides General Pierce in a white horse, wearing a polished armor with a few dents along its chest. Beside her, Rachel rides, clad in a black flowing cape, though she no longer wears her battle armor. A sign of her confidence that no harm shall come her way. As the head of the train enters through the gates of the castle, Quinn fidgets. Rachel seems battleworn, exhaustion evident in the corners of her eyes. But still, she remains smiling, waving to her citizens.

 

Rachel’s waving ceases, however, when her eyes lock with Quinn’s. The warmth of the queen’s eyes, reminiscent of the steady ground beneath her feet, of sturdy oaks that offer her comfort and shade. Her heart skips a beat, and she is unable to control the fountain of joy bursting inside her chest. Quinn takes off in a run, propriety be damned, towards Rachel.

 

She scrambles off her mount and makes a run to meet Quinn. They meet halfway down the path, Rachel leaping to Quinn’s arms like two lovers reuniting. Which, Quinn supposes, they are. To hold the queen again is a relief, and a weight, ever heavy and ever terrifying, lifts off her chest.

 

Quinn furrows her brow. “You feel thinner, your majesty.”

 

“Hm? Oh, so I do.” Rachel shrugs, sheepish. “Our supply train bearing the provisions was cut off last minute, so we had to ration the remaining food items. I knew my soldiers need more food than I do, since they are in the front lines fighting for me, after all. So I gave them my share and lived on dried biscuits for the rest of the siege.”

 

That said, Quinn shoots Santana a look. The steward offers an imperceptible nod, turns to the servants beside her to whisper something in their ear. Quinn cups Rachel’s jaw in both hands and admires her beautiful face for a few moments. Then, she addresses the train and the crowd that had gathered. “It is my absolute pleasure to welcome Queen Rachel back into the castle, and we, as her household, sees this as an opportunity to celebrate. Everyone is welcome into the dining halls, where dinner and merriment will be served.”

 

The soldiers cheered. “Long live the queen! Long live the queen’s queen!”

 

* * *

Entering the cool shade of the foyer while the servants redirect the retinue to the stables to care for their horses, Rachel holds Quinn by her waist and pulls her in for a long-awaited kiss. The handmaid weakens into her queen’s embrace, arms curling around her neck. The kiss runs deep, smouldering with longing they braved for months.

 

“I had no doubt I would see you again,” Quinn breathes, her mouth lingering along Rachel’s, “but your lips taste sweeter. I longed for you, my queen.”

 

“Did you hear them out there, calling you my queen?” Rachel asks, taking Quinn by the hand as they walk into the lavish dining hall where a feast was prepared in honour of Rachel’s return. “You have the approval of my army, at least. That should be enough to persuade naysayers to think that you are legitimate enough to be my wife.”

 

Quin scrunches her nose. “Your grace, are you saying you are going to exercise your martial power to reinforce _my_ role as your queen if your citizens react against it?”

 

“That is not what I said,” Rachel says. “I was just commenting on how the soldiers seem to have taken a liking to you.”

 

“Only because I offered to feed them, your majesty.” Quinn laughs. Rachel returns her smile and takes the seat at the head of the long banquet table. There, she welcomes her general, her commanders, captains, and corporals. “You are all probably tired of all the talking and speeches I do,” the soldiers laugh. “And I don’t blame you, truly. So for now, I know you are all starving. I will hold off on my speeches until after, when you are all drunk and out of it. For now, let us eat!”

 

Another cheer shakes the walls of the palace. What follows is the clatter of utensils, the incessant chatter of those who are victorious. Rachel watches the soldiers who stood by her side, while Quinn watches her queen.

 

“Will you not dine, your majesty?”

 

Rachel shakes her head and takes a drink from her cup. She licks her bottom lip and steals a sideway glance at Quinn. “I’m not hungry, truly. Not for food, anyway.”

 

Quinn resists the urge to look at her queen in a chastising manner. She _knows_ what the queen is truly hungry for, for she lusts for the exact same thing. Though try as she might, being proper seems like a fantasy that she has no business of fulfilling. “Perhaps the queen would rather take her dinner in the privacy of her office?”

 

“You read my mind, Quinn.” Rachel smiles and rises to her feet. She speaks with General Pierce for a moment, excusing herself. The general’s stark blue eyes lock with Quinn’s, dancing like glaciers in a clear day. She winks, and Rachel touches the small of Quinn’s back to lead her into her office, leaving Santana and the others to deal with any unruliness that might occur between the soldiers in the midst of their celebrations.

 

Once the heavy door clicks shut, Rachel lunges for Quinn. Their bodies collide, her arms curling tight around the handmaiden’s midriff. Their eyes lock, Rachel’s eyes darting to Quinn’s bottom lip. As soon as Quinn smiles, Rachel reciprocates the grin and leans in for a kiss that they both melt into. Fingers thread through dark locks. Rachel’s palms glide along the sides of Quinn’s thighs to lift the fabric of her dress. The sound of rustling fabric, the off-rhythm of their breathing expresses their desire with no need for words.

 

Guiding Quinn to the nearby fainting couch—even though it has never truly been used for its preconceived purpose—Rachel pulls her on top of her to continue the kisses. Her tongue slips inside Quinn’s mouth which the handmaiden eagerly plays with, lips tugging, sucking on the queen’s pink tongue. A soft groan spills from Rachel’s mouth, deep and guttural. Quinn feels it in the pit of her belly. She lowers the bodice of her dress, exposing the fullness of her breasts. Immediately, Rachel latches her mouth to the swell of her soft tits. She nibbles the pliant nipple, sucking until it stiffens against her tongue.

 

“Your highness, _please_ …” Quinn trembles, reaching into the queen’s trousers to pull out her already rigid cock. It pulses, thick and shining at the head from precum. Quinn sweeps her thumb against the slit and strokes her shaft in slow motions of her slick palm. She feels the queen’s hardness, her thickness making it difficult for Quinn to wrap her delicate hand fully around its girth. “Would you allow me to put it in my mouth?” She asks in a tone of desperation.

 

Rachel’s throat bobs and she nods. “Please,” she says, “but don’t make me come. I want to be inside you before I do.”

 

The handmaiden smiles but says nothing as her pink lips part and she guides the head of Rachel’s cock into her mouth. She suckles, tongue against the pulsing underside. Her cheeks hollow, her mouth moving up and down with slick motions guided with her spit. Hazel eyes never leave eager dark brown.

 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” Rachel sighs, her hips bucking once. Her cockhead bumps the roof of Quinn’s mouth. She groans at the ridged sensations dragging against the tip of her meat. “I longed to touch myself, thinking of you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

 

“Perhaps your majesty wanted me to be the one stroking this hard meat?” Quinn asks, hands replacing her mouth to stroke her highness’ shaft. She twists her wrists on the upstroke. Emits a wet, sucking noise that makes Rachel’s breath catch in her throat. Quinn puckers her lips and suckles the very tip, her tongue dancing along the leaking slit of Rachel’s cock. Her hands stroke faster, and Quinn sees the telltale signs of Rachel’s impending orgasm before she even utters the words _‘I’m coming!’_ with a broken gasp. Rachel’s adorably furrowed brow, her ragged breathing. Her breasts rising and falling at a rapid rate. Her trembling thighs.

 

“I’m coming,” Rachel arches, her toes curling. She grasps Quinn’s wrists and tries to pull her from her pulsing cock but Quinn shakes her off. Swallows her entire girth into her mouth with a filthy noise that makes Rachel whine. It takes a low moan and a gentle tug on Rachel’s balls to make her unload deep in Quinn’s eager, swallowing mouth. The queen’s body trembles like an autumn leaf buffeted by storm. She squirms. Every spurt of cum that coats Quinn’s tongue makes her cock twitch.

 

Quinn draws back with a delighted hum. “You disobeyed me,” Rachel mutters, panting. Her cock doesn’t bother softening as it curves against her hip, glistening with spit and semen from the pale glow of candlelight.

 

Smirking, Quinn drags her nails against the length of the queen’s inner thighs. “What are you to do, your grace? Punish me?”

 

Rachel grins. “I might. Bend over.”

 

Eager to do as her queen asks, Quinn rests her elbows on the back of the couch, knees planted against the seat, her ass high up in the air. Rachel runs the flat of her palm against the curve of Quinn’s back, down to her butt cheeks. She squeezes and kisses the slope of her shoulder. Moving behind Quinn, Rachel crouches and drags her tongue along her plump folds, slick with her cum. Quinn shrieks, her hips bucking. Rachel hums at the taste--with delight, Quinn hears. Her tongue parts Quinn’s folds to latch on to her clit.

 

Quinn bites down on her wrist, the sensations of Rachel’s tongue making her legs quake. She hasn’t had an orgasm for months either, resisting the urge to have her hand up her skirt while her queen is off fighting a war, being at the front lines with the threat of being hurt, or worse, killed. It seems improper then, and it became a test of iron will and devotion to Rachel, which Quinn succeeded.

 

And now, its consequence is this neediness, this desire to have Rachel inside her more than anything. Though she is sure that no amount of begging would tear Rachel away from her pussy while her mouth suckles and nibbles on her clit. Quinn shivers from the building heat in her belly, hole clenching, cum dripping out of her. Rachel moans at the taste and flattens her tongue against her pussy to lick her folds clean.

 

Quinn hears shuffling and she looks over her shoulder to see Rachel with a look of concentration on her face. She guides her meat into her pussy and eases it inside her. Relief courses through their bodies. Quinn’s arms and legs go weak. She slumps against the couch and moans. “More... I thought this was supposed to be punishment?” Quinn taunts and leans back against Rachel’s chest, her mouth trailing along her jaw as the queen thrust erratically. “Do not be afraid to get rough, your majesty.”

 

With a tight grip on Quinn’s hips, Rachel pounds her hips hard against the swell of her ass, driving her cock deeper into her pussy. The slick noises from Quinn’s pussy makes Rachel gasp, her forehead pressing into the space between her shoulder blades. “I’ve missed this so much,” she breathes softly, kissing along the curve of Quinn’s shoulder. Her palms find Quinn’s tits, giving them a full squeeze. Rachel pumps her cock in slow strokes, allowing Quinn to feel every inch of it sliding inside, and then out of her drenched core.

 

“I’m about to come,” Quinn reaches back to grasp the back of Rachel’s neck. Her hips move in tight circles, fucking herself back on the queen’s cock. Rachel’s nails dig into Quinn’s hip. The slight sting makes Quinn suck in a harsh breath, her walls clamping down around Rachel. “Oh— _your majesty!!_ ”

 

Rachel squirms, keeps pounding into Quinn to help her ride out the crash and wave of her orgasm. “I-I can’t...” She gasps, slamming into Quinn a few more times before yanking her cock out, spilling ropes of cum all over the swell of her handmaiden’s ass. Quinn lowers herself to the floor and, with eyes locked with Rachel’s, swirls the flat of her tongue against the blushing tip of her cock. She cleans with slow, kittenish licks, leaving Rachel a panting mess from oversensitivity.

 

“I ought to make you a queen yourself with how amazing you are at that,” Rachel says, collapsing on the couch, Quinn climbing in beside her. The queen yawns and her eyelids droop.

 

“You could do that, your grace, just as easily.” Quinn whispers. She curses herself for entertaining those thoughts again, of being Rachel’s queen. She glances up, sees that Rachel is fast asleep. Sighing in relief, Quinn collapses beside Rachel, tucking the queen’s head under her chin, arm thrown over her hip. The sooner Quinn accepts that being Rachel’s queen is just a fantasy and nothing more, the better.

 

* * *

 

It is the middle of the night when Quinn nudges Rachel to wake. After making repeated love on the couch with the stars dancing in the backdrop of trees and the dark sky, it is time for them to return to Rachel’s bedchambers. The blanket draped over their bodies must be Santana’s doing. Quinn can picture the steward’s scrunched-up features as she spreads the duvet over their linked bodies, and the image makes her laugh. She lights a candle, drapes the quilt over Rachel’s shoulders, and together they walk the dimly lit hallway back to the bedchamber, the warm glow of the candle casting a radiance along the stone walls. Rachel, upon entering the comfort of her bedroom, collapses by the foot of her bed. “Ah, home sweet home.”

 

Quinn sets the candlestick on the bedside table while she changes into her nightgown, a sheer white taffeta with the bodice decorated with black needlework of vines and flowers. It flows like a river of milk down past her knees. Pinning up her hair in a loose bun, Quinn approaches the foot of the bed and begins to unbutton Rachel’s shirt. The queen lifts her head off the bed and smirks. “I do enjoy how keen you are to get me naked, Quinn.”

 

The handmaiden laughs. “I’m keen to get you changed into your sleepwear your majesty, so you can be comfortable and rest.”

 

“What would my royal subjects say about your motives?” Rachel teases, lifting her arms so Quinn can peel off her undershirt, damp with sweat, as well as slip a fresh-smelling crisp linen nightshirt. Carefully sliding Rachel’s arms through, Quinn smooths the fabric out and buttons it up. She then removes Rachel’s trousers, her socks, her boots, leaving it all on the ground by the foot of the bed for the servants to worry about the next day.

 

Quinn peels back the layers of bed sheets and blankets so Rachel can slide into the cool space, with Quinn climbing into bed beside her. She puts out the light, immersing them from the tangerine glow of the flame, into the black abyss of the night. Quinn, burrowing further into the blankets, turns on her side to view Rachel’s features from memory, as there is no light filtering into the queen’s bedchamber.

 

A soft sigh emanates from the queen’s mouth. “This pillow smells like you, and it feels like I am in heaven.”

 

“I, as well, your highness.” Quinn whispers. She tucks a lock of Rachel’s hair behind her ear and kisses her nose. The queen falls asleep, while Quinn, sitting in the sea of silence with the movements of Rachel’s body so close to her, thinks about the harshness of reality. She caresses the length of Rachel’s back and kisses the slope of her shoulder. For the moment, she relishes it.

 

* * *

A few days later, when skilled workers have been working day after day on forming structures, tents, and rooming shanties for the upcoming servants hailing from the nearby kingdoms, Quinn receives another letter from her father’s steward, pleading for her to make her visit to her ailing father, as well as settle the estates. She sighs, pocketing the letter. She returns to the task at hand, which is to oversee the lists of produce that are to be carted into the kitchens for the feasts that are to last for seven days, the duration of the engagement week where the queen will meet her suitors. The end of the week will be the masquerade ball where the queen will announce who she intends to marry.

 

Across from her, Rachel looks up and puts her quill into the inkstand. “Is something the matter, Quinn? You know, you _are_ allowed to take a break. I know you’ve been working hard for this engagement celebration, but it’s no cause to overexert yourself.”

 

“All is well, your highness,” Quinn offers a smile, albeit a weak one. “The accounts are just making numbers swirl around in my vision, that’s all.” She rises from her seat, walks up to Rachel’s desk, and kisses the queen’s soft mouth. “I feel a moment under the sun shall fix me.”

 

Rachel’s throat bobs and she releases a soft breath. “May I join you?”

 

Smiling, Quinn shakes her head. “I’m afraid you must finish writing your welcoming speeches first, your majesty. How about this?” She sits sideways on Rachel’s lap, fingertips tracing the shape of her jaw. “Once you’re done drafting your speeches and checked with the scholars that they are apt, I will be waiting in our private gazebo by the pond. Sound good?”

 

Rachel curls her arms around Quinn’s hip and kisses a trail along her neck. “Oh, alright. Up you get, beautiful.” She teases, giving Quinn’s butt a gentle slap. “Let this be a testament to my responsibility and self-control.” She says, plucking her pen from its well. “Enjoy the sun, Quinn. Though I think the sun will enjoy _you_.”

 

The handmaiden curtsies, discreetly pocketing a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet or two of parchment in her pocket before heading outside. Flocks of birds soar overhead, ducks swim along the cool, bright surface of the water. The wind blows past, swirling Quinn’s skirts around her. Greeting the workers who tip their hats or offer a curt bow, Quinn walks the winding path that leads to the top of a small hill where the queen’s gazebo stands, crafted with varnished maple wood. It sits a few metres away from the edge of the dock of the lake, where along the rocky beach, ducklings are being taught how to swim by their mothers.

 

For a moment, Quinn stretches her limbs and absorbs a face full of sunlight. Feeling warm enough, she enters the gazebo and spreads out the letter from her father’s steward. She reads it once, and then again. Out of necessity, Quinn thinks she ought to make the visit to her birth home in the near future, but at the same time, she also knows that Rachel needs her by her side for the week to come to provide comfort and counsel in any form she can offer.

 

This request from the steward is her filial duty. But to be by Rachel’s side is her duty to the queen. Quinn bites her lip, unsure of what to do, though perhaps, her hesitation is manifestation for the thing she fears of losing. After all, either way, by the end of the upcoming week, she will no longer be the only body in the queen’s bed. Whether she leaves for her ancestral home or not, the truth is she will lose Rachel in the process.

 

Quinn takes a deep breath. Spreads out the supplies she snuck out of the queen’s offices to compose a letter. It took all of Quinn’s power not to drench the parchment with her tears with every word she writes. With a flourish, she signs her name and folds the letter she addressed to the queen.

**Author's Note:**

> Sloppy world-building aside, I hope you enjoyed. Plus, there's a sequel!


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